Alex Rider: Operation Stormbreaker
by Ali Maximum
Summary: When the doorbell rings at three in the morning, it's never good news. Alex was curious. Who would come at three? She gets up and throws open the curtains. And, yes, I said she.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: Say it with me. **_**Ali Maximum does NOT own Alex Rider.**_

**She just pretends she does.**

**She is also American. Please forgive her, but she had no choice in the matter.**

…

**...**

Prologue

An alarm was blaring quite loudly. _Well, duh! You ever heard a quiet alarm?_ I looked quickly at the clock. Almost eleven o'clock.

Damn. The Stormbreakers were due online at noon.

How the hell am I supposed to get from Cornwall to London in _one friggin' hour_? 'Specially since the alarms are blaring, the guards are probably ready to shoot at the slightest movement, and there is barbed wire fencing all around the complex.

I'd never make it out.

Find a telephone? No, Vole wasn't lying about that. Probably. Anyway, how could I get ahold of Jones or Blunt now? They might be at the Science Museum by now.

Just one hour left.

Over the noise of the alarm, I could hear another sound from outside. The splutter and roar of a propeller. Running over to the nearest window, I looked out. Sure enough, there was a cargo plane about to take off.

I was soaking wet, sore, and tired, but I knew what I had to do.

I spun round, and began to run.

...

...

**Want to kill me yet?**

**I know that I'm completely ruining the Alex Rider series, but I seriously wonder about this. -What if Alex had actually been a girl?**

**What would the series be like?**

**Well, now you're going to find out!**

**It'll follow the same plot-line as the books. If you have any questions regarding anything, feel free to ask.**

**Flames are welcomed, for you tell me how I can improve. 'Specially if you tell me to go stick my hands in blenders!**


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Ali lacks the creativity to make up her own idea, which is why she is writing fanfictions instead of an actual story belonging to her.**

**))0:0((**

This was the 23rd time he'd blown me off in the past two years. Yes, I keep track. I couldn't believe it.

So, therefore, I was pacing back and forth in the living room, and Jack was sitting there, curled up on the couch, trying to comfort me.

"He'll be here," she assured me.

Suddenly, I froze and looked at her. "Jack. He promised to be home two hours ago," I retorted. Crossing my arms over my chest, I dared her to find a flaw in my logic.

"Maybe he's caught up at work?" she tried.

"Like hell. He's forgotten. He always forgets." I resumed my pacing, even more fervently now. "He's never around, and he _always_ forgets! Damn it!" I had just stubbed my toe.

Jack sighed. "Language, Lex. Anyways, Ian's not that type. The reason he's not here is probably something really simple, like he's stuck in traffic, or something," she reasoned.

Too bad I was beyond reasoning. "Traffic wouldn't make him TWO HOURS late!" I roared. "He's blown me off again! Honestly, I don't know why I even bother anymore!" I was mad, evidently, and clearly taking my anger out on Jack.

"Alex, sit down. You're going to wear holes in the rug, and I like that particular one," was her response. "You've got to calm down, kiddo. He'll be here soon, and then you two can go to whatever game you both were going to," she suggested.

"Jack," I began. I knew she was trying to calm me, but that last statement had done the exact opposite. "The game ended _half-an-hour_ ago!" I yelled. Taking a deep breath before going on, calming myself, I continued, "Listen. It's ten o'clock. If the wonderful Ian Rider ever decides to grace us with his presence, would you please tell him to keep it down? His niece, his only remaining family member, mind you, will be in bed."

I turned and stalked off to the stairs, throwing a "Night, Jack," over my shoulder.

While changing into my pajamas, I thought about my uncle. He never seemed to be around much. Brushing my teeth, I thought about how he never seemed to care much. Crawling into bed, I realized, I didn't care all that much, either.

))0:0((

A chime echoed throughout the house. Groaning, I rolled over and looked at my alarm clock. Three o'clock. In the _morning._

Who the hell would be calling at three in the morning?

I slipped out of bed quietly, hearing Jack leave her room and go downstairs. The doorbell rang again, with it's annoying chiming noise. Then, I could hear a rattle as someone, presumably (hopefully) Jack, slid the security chain off the front door.

So, Ian wasn't home yet? Was that him? ...No, he wouldn't have rung the doorbell.

Then, who?

Silently, I crept over to my window, which faced the front yard. The moonlight framed my face for a minute before I slunk into the shadows. From my window, I could just see a police car, and the two police men standing on our front porch.

Good God, what did Tom do this time?

Then, the porch light went on, and, at the same time, the front door opened. Not being able to hear anything, I snuck to my door, opened it with the faintest of creaks, and stalked to the stairs.

"Mrs. Rider?" I heard one of the police men ask Jack. I stifled a laugh. Ian and Jack? Yeah, when pigs fly.

"No. I'm the housekeeper. What is it? What's happened?" Jack sounded worried. Well, wouldn't you be, if two cops showed up at your house at THREE in the MORNING?

"This is the home of Mr. Ian Rider?"

_Enough with the answering questions with other questions!_ I thought. _Somebody tell me what is going on!_

"Yes," Jack replied shortly.

"I wonder if we could come in..." the second police man trailed off.

That was when I knew. From the tone of their voices. They had only bad news to deliver. Their voices sounded out of place here. They belonged at a funeral. The sort of voices people use when they're about to tell you that someone has died.

From my perch on the top of the staircase, I could catch only brief snippets of their conversation. "...a car accident... called the ambulance...intensive care... nothing anyone could do... so sorry."

I heard Jack's collapsing sobs, before I, too, broke down. But not physically. I broke down on the inside, which is much, much worse.

I didn't even remember climbing back into bed.

))0:0((

It was only a few hours later when I could actually try to make sense of what happened. As the gray light of morning filtered in through the kitchen window, Jack and I sat there, cold coffee still in our hands.

She had "woken me up" to tell me the news just soon after the police left. Jack also hadn't spared me any of the details.

Ian Rider was dead. Driving home, his car had been hit by a truck at Old Street roundabout, and he'd been killed almost instantly. Supposedly, he hadn't been wearing a seatbelt. According to the police, that's what might've saved him, if he had been wearing one.

Which I knew was a ton of bull. Ian had never been one for lecturing, but that was one thing he always made sure Jack and I both did. Buckle up.

Reflecting back on my uncle, I remembered that he had been my only relation for as long as I could recall. I'd never known my parents, see? They died in a plane accident, a few weeks after I was born. So, I was brought up by Ian (never "Uncle"- He'd hated that word.). We'd spent fourteen years in the same terraced house in Chelsea, London, between the King's Road and the river. We'd been pretty close, when he was here, that was. All our vacations, sports, and... I'm pretty sure you guys don't want to hear me reminisce , do you? So, never mind.

I sighed, feeling the gloom pressing in now, and feeling very thrown-off.

Jack must've picked up on my sorrow, because she had gotten up, taken mine and her own cup of coffee, and refilled them both with fresh coffee.

"You okay, Alex?" she inquired.

I wanted to laugh, but didn't want to do that to her. It was such a stupid question. I found out my uncle died- how do you think I felt? For fear of hurting her already bruised feelings, I nodded. Then, I had a question burning that just slipped off my tongue before I could stop it.

"What do you think will happen?"

The red-head looked at me, confusion written all over her face. "What do ya mean?"

I motioned all round me. "To the house. To me. To you. What's going to happen now that Ian's gone?" Notice I couldn't say _dead_. Couldn't do that yet.

"I don't know, Alex. Maybe Ian'll have left a will," she theorized. "He'll have left instructions."

"Maybe they're in his office," I offered. "I'm not allowed in there. Or, at least, I wasn't. Did you know that I used to think he was a superhero, and that was his mission control?" I nodded at her amused expression. "I was a weird kid."

She laughed. "And that's different from now, how?" I feigned hurt. Jack quickly sobered up. "Yeah, we'll look in his office. Just not yet. Let's take this thing one step at a time. Which reminds me- you're staying home from school today. People who I don't know are coming over, and I don't feel like being alone with 'em. Please?" she begged, seeing my face.

In reality, I sort of wanted to go to school. It might take my mind off of things, and give me a change of pace. Already I was sick of these same walls.

I hung my head. "Sure, Jack. I'll stay home." There was silence for a bit, while we both sipped at our coffee. "You know, the police say he wasn't wearing his seatbelt. That's not like him. Ian always wore his seatbelt. I mean, he wouldn't even drive me around the corner without a ten-minute long lecture about how I might die if I didn't. Ian never struck me as hypocritical."

Shaking her head, the young housekeeper agreed with me, "It does seem strange. But, why would the police lie? They've got nothing to hide."

I had no choice but to give in. Looking down at my mug, I felt sick. "Jack, what time is everyone coming by today?"

"Bout noon-ish," she retorted. "Why?"

"I'm going to go lie down. Wake me before they get here, alright?" I said, taking my cup to the sink and dumping it.

"Okay, kiddo. Get some sleep."

I walked out of there, and headed for bed.

Yeah, I got absolutely no sleep, whatsoever.

))0:0((

There were five people that came that day.

A lawyer who knew nothing about any will, but was in charge of organizing the funeral.

A funeral director who'd came with the lawyer, who was supposedly the best.

A vicar, who seemed disappointed that I refused to cry.

The old lady from across the street, who brought us a casserole, which I threw away after she left.

And, finally, near four o'clock, a man from the bank came.

Jack answered the door, on account of me being rude to the neighbor who'd delivered the casserole. A man stood there, looking like the epitome of boring. He had the type of face that'd you forget as soon as you looked away.

"My name is John Crawley, I work for the Royal and General bank. You are Miss Starbright, I presume?"

Jack nodded. "Please, come on in," she invited. Shooting me a warning look, she asked, "Would you like anything?"

"No, thank-you," he denied, sounding uncomfortable. "Let me say, you have all of our condolences."

"Who's all of you?" I rudely asked.

The man, Crawley, didn't even blink at my bluntness. "All of us at the Royal and General, of course. We were deeply shocked, of course. If there's anything we can do..." Crawley trailed off.

_You can go away,_ I thought. But Jack's cautionary look had me biting my tongue. Still, I couldn't help the "What will happen?" from rolling off of my tongue again.

"You don't have to worry," said Crawley. "The bank will take care of everything. That's my job. You leave everything to me."

And so we did. The days passed slowly. Jack refused to let me go back to school, claiming I could go back after the funeral, that I needed a few days to "recuperate". I think she just needed the company.

Which got me thinking. What would happen to Jack? Would she have to go back to America? She couldn't stay in London forever.

Then, what would happen to me? Being fourteen, people would think I'm too young to take care of myself.

It was all too uncertain, so I shoved the thoughts into the back of my mind, resolving not to think about it yet.

))0:0((

The day of the funeral arrived. It was a cloudy, bleak day. Perfect for a funeral.

"Alex?" Jack called up the stairs to where I was in the bathroom. "The car's here. We need to go."

I took one last look in the mirror. Glancing at my own reflection, I was vaguely surprised to notice no sorrow in my features. Actually, I was taking it all in stride, like it really hadn't hit me yet. I brought my hand up to my hair, brushing a strand behind my ear. I had refused to put it up, like Jack had suggested. In memory of Ian.

I could remember one day, after getting back from karate. Ian had noticed something was up, and I'd told him that I'd been forced to put my hair back while I was sparring. He'd knelt down to my level, looked me in the eyes, and told me that it was my hair, and I could do whatever I wanted with it. And, with that, he'd helped me train with my hair down, occasionally even in my face.

_Great_, I thought, looking in the mirror. _Now the tears start_. Sure enough, welling up in my eyes, were tears, threatening to flood. Squelching the grief that was rising inside me, I quickly wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.

I would not be caught crying. Crying was a weakness, and, like Ian had told me, weaknesses are something other people should never see.

"Alexandra? Are you coming?" Now, Jack was at the top of the stairs, coming to get me.

"Yeah, Jack, on my way." I glanced at myself one more time and left the bathroom.

My housekeeper, no, my friend looked at me with a gaze so full of pity that I couldn't stand it. Slinging an arm over my shoulder, she inquired, "Ready to go, kiddo?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice as I felt my throat close up with unshed tears.

The car ride to the graveyard was short, and drop-dead silent.

At the funeral, I was surrounded by people I'd never heard about, much less met. Ian Rider was buried in Brompton Cemetery on the Fulham Road, just in the shadows of the Chelsea soccer field, where I knew we'd both have preferred to be this afternoon. A grave had been dug close to the lane that ran the length of the cemetery.

As the service began, I noticed a black Rolls-Royce pull up, and a man get out. Involuntarily, I shivered. Something about him seemed off. And, yet, the man was ordinary to look at. He was completely gray, from his hair to his shoes. Gray, gray, and, wait for it, more gray! Maybe that was what unnerved me. He seemed to have the least life of everyone in this place, dead or otherwise.

I tensed as someone tapped me on the shoulder. Whipping round, ready to punch whoever had startled me, I recognized Crawley.

"That's Mr. Blunt," the personnel manager whispered. "He's the chairman of the bank."

_Excellent. More people lacking personalities. Just what I need today._ I briefly contemplated calling Tom, just to hear someone crack a joke. I could use a good laugh.

As I pondered this, I caught sight of two others who had just gotten out of the car with this Mr. Blunt. They were so alike, it's not even funny. They were both wearing identical outfits: suits with matching sunglasses, even though, guess what? There was no sun. Both of 'em were watching the funeral with the same expression: grim and grimmer.

Looking round at all of the other people gathered here, I had to wonder. Did these people really all know my uncle? Hell, I barely knew him, and he was my uncle! And, why was I finding it so hard to believe all these people worked at a bank?

"... a good man, a patriotic man. He shall be missed," finished the vicar.

Patriotic? Honestly? I mean, sure, Ian loved his country, but he barely spent any time in it, for crying out loud!

Looking around for Jack, I instead saw Mr. Blunt making his way towards me. God, was he going to offer his "condolences" as well? I swear I was going to shoot the next person who told me that.

"You must be Alexandra," he said.

"It's Alex," I retorted. What? Alexandra sounded all... snooty, I guess. So not me-ish.

"My name is Alan Blunt," he plowed on, pretending he hadn't heard me. "Your uncle often spoke highly of you."

Alright, approaching dangerous territory. So, I decided to go with my best defense. "That's funny. 'Cause he never mentioned you."

I caught a brief twitch of Blunt's lips before the mask set back in. "We'll miss him. He was a good man."

"Oh, really? And, pray tell, what was he so good at?" I asked, falsely innocent.

"Your uncle was our our overseas finance manager, Alex," said Crawley. I jumped involuntarily. Bloody hell, where had he come from? Stupid people. Acting like a whack-a-mole. Grr. "He was responsible for our foreign branches," he explained. "You must have known that."

"All I knew was that he traveled a lot." And, I couldn't resist adding, "And I know he was very careful. About things like seatbelts."

"Not careful enough," asserted Mr. Blunt. For a minute, I met his gaze. His eyes, magnified by his glasses, bore into mine, and I felt like I was being scrutinized under a microscope. "I hope we'll meet again," he went on. He tapped the side of his face with a gray finger (Jeesh! Was everything about him gray?). "Yes..." Then, he turned and went back to his car.

That was when it happened. Blunt neared the door, and the driver leaned forward to open it. The driver's jacket fell open, revealing a black shape against an otherwise clean stark white shirt. Shocked, it clicked what I was seeing. A leather holster, with an automatic pistol inside.

Realizing what had happened, the man straightened up and pulled the jacket across. Blunt must've seen it, too, for he turned back and looked me.

Oh, my! Was that an emotion that nearly crossed his face? But, just as fast, it slithered off, and he got into the car. Soon, I heard the engine start, and the Rolls-Royce pulled off.

A gun at a funeral? Why? _Why would __bank managers__ carry guns?_

"Let's get out of here," commented Jack, also appearing out of thin air. She intertwined her arm with mine, and added, "Cemeteries give me the creeps."

"Yeah, and quite a few creeps have shown up," I retorted. I bit my tongue when the fact that I'd said that out loud processed. _Damn it!_ Why was my tongue so loose today?

The red head just rolled her eyes at me, and slowly, began to lead me back home. Sure, the car was still waiting for us, but we preferred the open air to ominous people.

Walking home only took us fifteen minutes, and it was a silent quarter of an hour. Each of us were caught up in our own thoughts.

As we turned the corner to our street, I noticed a van in front of our house. The words STRYKER & SON were printed on the side of the black van in white lettering.

"What's that doing...?" I began.

At that moment, the van shot off, the wheels skidding over the road, making horrid squealing noises.

I didn't say anything as Jack unlocked the door and let us in. She hadn't noticed the van, obviously, and I saw no need to worry her. She was stressed enough already.

"Ugh, I hate funerals. Want some coffee?" Jack asked randomly. At my uncomprehending look, she added, "I need some caffeine."

"Sure, Jack." Anything that might take my mind off things. Caffeine might not be the best way to do it, but whatever.

"You're going back to school tomorrow," Jack reminded me. "Make sure your uniform is clean."

I rolled my eyes. Now she became all parental. What happened to the girl who I'd been taking care of for the past couple of days? Once Jack went into the kitchen, I remembered the van. Looking around, I noticed some things that were off.

A letter that had been on the back of the couch, waiting for someone to read it, was now on the hall table, opened.

The laundry room door that had been half opened was now shut.

Tiny details like that, but I missed nothing. Someone had been in our house. I was sure of it. However, I wasn't sure until I got to the 2nd floor. The door to Ian's office, which had always been locked and shut, was now slightly ajar.

Curious as to what was in there, I walked over, and silently pushed the door the rest of the way open.

My jaw dropped, and a gasp got past my defenses. The room was empty.

Jack came upstairs. "Hey, Lex? What kind of creamer do you want?" She noticed me standing in the doorway. "I thought we weren't going in here yet," she scolded. "What's the matter?" Jack had noticed my jaw open.

Then, she glanced inside and saw what I was gaping over.

The desk drawers, the closets, the shelves... Anything connected to the dead man's work had been taken.

Whatever chance I had of finding out more about my uncle, had just been wiped out.

"He's gone."

))0:0((

**Want to kill me yet?**

**I know that I'm completely ruining the Alex Rider series, but I seriously wonder about this. -What if Alex had actually been a girl?**

**What would the series be like?**

**Well, now you're going to find out! Here's the first chapter of Stormbreaker!**

**Flames are welcomed, for you tell me how I can improve. 'Specially if you tell me to go stick my hands in blenders!**


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Ali lacks the creativity to make up her own idea, which is why she is writing fanfictions instead of an actual story belonging to her.**

Chapter Two: Heaven for Cars

"Time for the sleepy-head to get her butt out of bed!cried Jack as she flipped my mattress over, successfully plopping me on the ground.

I groaned. 擢ive more minutes, Jack. I'm tired."

A sigh could be heard, and I turned to see Jack rolling her eyes. 的 gave you five more minutes twenty minutes ago, kiddo. Now, you either get up, or you get late."

Trying to jump to my feet, my brain connected with the pesky little fact that I was still tired. And so, I fell to the ground, smushing my face against it. 滴ello, ground. Nice to meet you again."

There was a peal of laughter from Jack. 適eep on acting like that, and people might think you're doing some drugs,she laughed.

"Ugh,I moaned. 的'm up.I tried getting to my feet again, slowly this time, and to my joy, made it!

"Great. See you downstairs. I made breakfast,declared Jack as she left my room with a huge grin on her face.

"I'll take some cereal, then!I called after her. I didn't trust her cooking. She wasn't very skilled in that area, only taking ten minutes to make food.

"You will eat my food, and you will like it, Miss Alexandra Rider!Jack shouted from the bottom of the stairs.

This time, I rolled my eyes. _Now who was being a child?_

Five minutes later, found me downstairs, already dressed, and eating breakfast. Or, at the very least, sitting there and staring at it. I picked up my fork and poked it.

"If you don't mind me asking, Jack, what the hell is this?I inquired, poking it again. My fork penetrated it's outer shell, and ooze began to squirt out.

"It's an egg, Lex. Just eat it,she sighed, obviously tired of my teenagerisms already.

"Are eggs supposed to be _blue_?I asked, incredulously. 'Cause, seriously, the eggs were blue. Last time I checked, they weren't supposed to be any color but yellow, and on occasion, green.

Jack smiled a little sheepishly at me. 展ell, the food coloring sorta fell into the egg, and I was too lazy to remake 'em. Oh, just eat it!"

Complying, I shoved a forkfull of blue egg in my mouth. It wasn't that bad. So, as quickly as I could without choking, I ate the rest of my breakfast, then ran back upstairs. I glanced at the clock. Good, still had about an hour and a half.

Wait a second! An hour and a half?

"JACK!"

.oOo.

With Hammersmith Bridge just ahead of me, I left the river and swung my bike through the lights. Right down the street was Brookland School. My school.

I pedaled a little slower, seeing as I had quite some time left. My bike was made specially for me, and I'd be sad to see it go. It had been a present for my 12th birthday, from Ian.

Spinning past a delivery van, I passed through the school gates, nearly running over a couple of kids.

"Watch it!one of 'em yelled at me, raising their fist. Without looking back, I flipped them both the bird.

"Screw you,was my response.

"Is that an offer?"

Just in front of me was Tom, my best friend. I skidded to a halt before running him over. It had also been him who had made the comment.

"Pig,I informed him.

"Ah, that's why you love me so,retorted Tom.

Rolling my eyes, I double locked my bike in the shed, so no one would steal it. Not that anyone would try again, of course. I'd dealt with the last guy to try to take my bike. Needless to say, not a single person has touched it since then.

Tom followed me into the yard that surrounded our school. Brookland was a modern school, and, quite frankly, _really_ ugly. Sure, I could've gone to any other private school in the area. I mean, it wasn't like we were exactly poor. But Ian had thought it'd be more of a challenge to send me here.

"Finish your homework?I asked Tom.

He snorted. 徹f course! I always finish my homework!he claimed, a tad bit defensively.

One of my eyebrows raised. 徹h, really? What about that one-?"

"Was that the bell? Gotta go!And with that, the coward I call my best friend ran off. Rolling my eyes at his childishness, I headed for first period. Algebra.

As I entered the room, I saw Mr. Donovan, our teacher, already drawing some complicated-looking equation on the board. The sunlight streamed in, making it stuffy and hot inside. I mean, honestly! Who puts floor-length windows in a classroom?

Someone who likes to watch children suffer, that's who. But, that's just my theory. Tom thinks it'll be easier for the aliens to abduct us. What's that saying Jack told me once? Oh, 添ou can pick your friends, and you can pick your nose, but you can't pick your friend's my case, I didn't pick this friendship. It just happened.

But, anyway.

I took my seat at the back as usual. Hanging my bag on the back of my chair, I leaned forward onto my elbows. My head spun with thoughts of the past few days. Slightly dizzy, I put my head in my hands.

The gun at the funeral. The way Blunt had looked at me. The van with STRYKER & SON printed on the side. The empty office. And the biggest mystery of all, the one little detail that wouldn't get out of my frickin' mind: the seatbelt. Ian Rider hadn't been wearing a seatbelt.

But, of course he had. Ian always wore his seatbelt. _Always_. Actually, the more I thought about it, the less I believed this lie.

A collision in the middle of the city. Suddenly, I wished I could see the car. At least the wreck would tell me that they weren't lying, that I could honestly believe them.

"Alex?"

_Shit_. I looked up, and saw that everyone was staring at me. Mr Donovan had asked me something. Mind racing, I looked at the board, scanning it, taking in figures. 添es sir, X equals seven and Y is fifteen."

The teacher sighed. 鼎orrect as usual, Alex. But I was asking if you would just open the window."

_Of course. Get your head back here, Alex. Zone out on your own time._

Somehow, by a miracle, I managed to get through the rest of the day. But, by the time the last bell rang, I'd made up my mind. Even as everyone else went home, I headed to Miss Bedfordshire's office. She was our secretary.

Walking up to the desk, I asked, 鼎an I borrow the Yellow Pages, please?"

Handing them over to me, the secretary smiled. 鉄ure. What are you looking for?She'd always had a bit of a soft spot for me. And, boy, did I use that to my advantage sometimes...

"Auto junkyards...I flicked through the pages. 的f a car got smashed near Old Street, then, wouldn't they take it somewhere near?"

"Suppose so."

"Here!My finger found the labeling, _Auto Wreckers_. So, naturally, there were dozens of them. Flipping through the pages, I realized there was at least four pages.

This would make the searching a bit harder.

Miss Bedfordshire peered at me through her glasses. 的s this for a school project, Miss Rider?"

Hoping she hadn't heard of my uncle in the car crash, I lied. 鼎ertainly, ma'am. Social Studies, I traced my finger down, I continued talking. 展e're supposed to research a local business, and I got stuck with Junkyards..."

"Oh. Well, this one's quite near Old Street,she pointed out.

"Wait!I tugged the book closer and looked at the entry under the one she'd pointed out:

J. B. STRYKER. AUTO WRECKERS

Heaven for Cars

CALL US TODAY

"That's in Vauxhall,Miss Bedfordshire informed me. 哲ot too far from here."

"Yeah, I know.I realize that was rude, but I recognized the name. Thinking back to the van outside my house, the one that took all of Ian's stuff away. Stryker & Son. Might just be a coincidence, bit one I'd have to check out, nevertheless. Closing the book and handing it back to her, I replied, 的'll be seeing you, Miss Bedfordshire."

"Be careful,she called at my retreating back.

Why did I feel like I'd be needing that?

.oOo.

J.B. Stryker's was a square of wasteland behind the railway tracks running out of Waterloo Square. The area was enclosed by a high wall of brick topped with broken glass and razor wire. Two wooden gates hung open, and from the other side of the road, I could see a shed with a security window and beyond it a teetering pile of dead and broken cars. Everything of any value had been stripped away and only the rusting carcasses remained, heaped one on top of the other. Waiting to be crushed.

Charming place, right?

There was a guard sitting in the shed, reading a book. Stifling a laugh as I recognized it as the newest teenage girl romance, _Twilight_, I looked past him. There was a bulldozer in the distance, coughing to life. It crashed down on a silver car and carried it away. From inside the shed, a phone rang, and the man put down his phone to go answer it.

Good enough for me. Holding my bike and wheeling it along beside me, I sprinted between the gates.

Good God! The stench was unbearable! Refraining from gagging, I watched as the crane thing picked up another car and dropped it into the crusher. I watched as it was efficiently crushed into a little cubey thingy by the guy in the control booth.

Yikes.

I propped my bike against the wall and ran farther into the yard. Crouching down behind the wrecks as I ran, I tried _really_ hard not to be seen. That'd end badly. With the noise coming from those machines, I wouldn't be overheard, but someone still might see me. Stopping to catch my breath, I drew a grimy hand across my face, doing more damage than help. My eyes were watering from the diesel fumes.

All in all, this place would not make my list of 典op 10 Places to Be Probably wouldn't even make my Top 100.

I was beginning to regret coming, but then I saw it. Ian's BMW was parked a few yards away, separated from the other cars. At first glance, it looked absolutely fine, the body not even scratched.

_No way was this car in an accident!_I thought.

I ran forward, to the car. It was definitely Ian's; I knew that after one look at the license plate. Now that I was closer, I could see that the car was, in fact, damaged. The windshield had been smashed, along with all the windows on the driver's side. Making my way to the other side, I saw what had happened to the windows. And froze.

All along the driver's side were bullet holes.

I ran my fingers over the holes in the metal, feeling the unaffected coolness of it. Opening the door, I peeked inside. Glass was all over the seat, and there was a stain on it, dark brown in color. No need to ask what it was- the answer had came to mind immediately.

It was blood. Ian had been killed. God, I could see it all now. The flash of the machine gun. The bullets ripping into the car, Ian jerking round in the seat...

Quickly, I shut my mind down. No use crying over the past. What's done was done; get over it. But one thing resided in my mind. Why on Earth would you kill a bank manager? Why cover it up? Why would the police lie?

None of it was making any sense.

The machines lulled for a moment, allowing me to hear people approaching. 添ou should have gotten rid of it two days ago. Do it now...I was about to be found out. Quickly, I looked across the steering wheel and out the other side. There were two men there, standing in loosely-fitting overalls. Swear to God, one of 'em was the driver from the funeral. Yeah, the one with the gun.

Dear Lord, I was in deep shit. 'Specially if he still had it.

They were coming closer, talking in low voices. Without thinking, I threw myself into the only hiding place available- the car. Hooking my foot around the door handle, I barely managed to close it quietly. At the same time, the machines started up again, and I lost hearing. I had no idea where the men were. All I could do was hold my breath and hope they didn't find me.

A shadow fell across the window, and I hoped it wasn't the men. This time, my prayer was answered. By something much worse, though.

Something hit the car with such force that I screamed, my whole body caught in a massive shock wave that threw me into the backseat. The roof buckled and three huge metal fingers through the skin of the car like a tiger through someone's leg. Something hit my head and I cried out in pain, reaching up. One of the fingers had grazed my head; any closer, and it would've cracked my skull. Blood trickled down into my eye. I blinked and wiped it out as best I could- I could tell I was going to need both of those coming up.

I tried to move, but was jerked back again as the crane lifted up the car. It tilted, forcing my head to smack into the window. Man, I was going to have a serious headache later.

I couldn't see. I couldn't move. But my stomach lurched as the car swung in an arc, everything spinning and groaning under the pressure. The car had been picked up by the crane. It was going to be put in the crusher.

With me inside. Shit-taki.

I tried to sit up, to wave to someone, alert them that I was there. But the roof of the car had already flattened the roof, pinning my right leg. I really wished it wasn't broken. I certainly couldn't feel it. Lifting a hand, I managed to pound on the back window, but the glass wouldn't break.

"Someone! Help!I yelled. 敵et me out of here!"

It was fruitless; even if the men were staring at the car, they'd never see or hear anything that would go on inside. My short flight across the junkyard ended with a bone-shattering crash. Choking back the bile that was rising in my throat, I tried to think logically. What could I do to get out of this? Any moment now, the operator would send the car tipping into a coffin-shaped trough. All I knew was that it would crush the car, killing me inside it. Nobody would even know what happened.

That thought scared me, and I struggled harder. But the roof was too low. My leg was trapped.

"Dammit!I yelled. Then, my whole world tilted as the car was put into the crushed. The realization that I had seconds to live hit me like a brick. The metalwork was collapsing all around me; the back window exploded and glass showered around my head. The smell was unbearable, and I couldn't see anything. It gave a whole new meaning to the term 澱lind panic

The sound of the machine changed; it was entering it's final stage. The metal wings shuddered. In a few second's time, they would fold together, crumpling the car between them. I would die.

I pulled with all my strength and was thoroughly surprised for my leg to have come free. Didn't bother thinking about how it'd happened, just glad it did. Now, I needed to get the hell out of this car! My right hand scrabbled for the door, knowing it was no use but trying anyway. Sure to my dismay, the car had bent the doors so they wouldn't open.

The back window! The glass had broke, and I could certainly climb through the frame! But only if I moved fast.

The wings began to move, and the car screeched in protest. It gave in, though, and began folding into itself. All I could hear was the grind of the machine, the crash of glass shattering. To make matters worse, it was beginning to get dark.

I grabbed hold of what was left of the backseat. There was a single triangle of light ahead of me, getting smaller and smaller. The car was pressing down upon me now; it was now or never. With the last of my strength, I pulled myself forward. Through the triangle, my shoulders passed. Then, my torso, and then, my legs. But, just as I was nearly out, my shoe caught. _No! So close!_ I yanked and the shoe was pulled off, left behind in the car. I could practically hear it being mutilated inside. But my journey wasn't over yet. Still had to get out of the junkyard.

Finally, holding on to that grimy, oily, black surface of the observation platform, I dragged myself clear and managed to get to my feet. I then found myself face-to-face with a man so fat that I was surprised he could fit into that small of an area. A cigarette dangled on his lower lip as his mouth dropped and his eyes stared. He probably couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Before he came to his senses and turned the machine off, I was scrambling down the side of the crusher. Thankfully, I managed to land on the foot that still had a shoe. I was very careful making my way back to my bike, being sure not to slice my bare foot open. That would suck. Behind me, in the control area of the machine, the man who'd seen me opened the door and raised the alarm, calling out. At the same time, another rushed forward, stepping between me and my bike. _Damn_, was my first thought as I recognized the driver from the funeral.

"What do you think...he began, his nasty face twisting into a frown. His hand reached into his pocket and my eyes widened, remembering his gun. Instantly, I swung into action, bringing up one leg, twisting my body around, and finally, lashing out. The back kick is said to be the most lethal in karate. _Here's to hoping Sensei was telling the truth_. My foot connected with the man's abdomen using such force that he didn't even have time to cry out. He crumpled and fell to the ground, mid-motion.

I leaped over the guy, snatched up my bike, and swung myself onto it. I could hear another man running toward me. A single 鉄top!and the crack of a bullet was enough to make me take off pedaling as hard as I could. I made it through the doors just before they closed. Looking over my shoulder, I saw that no one was following me.

Letting out a breath, I turned and headed for home. With one bare foot, the shoe effectively being crushed, my clothes in rags, and my body streaked with oil, I knew I had to look pretty strange. But then, I thought back to my time in the crusher, the panic that I wasn't going to get out of there. I sighed with relief.

I could've been looking a lot worse.


End file.
